


Swelter of the Night

by imsorrydidijuststutter



Category: Rocketman (2019) RPF
Genre: Longing, M/M, Sleep Deprivation, Some Cursing, you know when ben wyatt says it's about the cones? it's about the longing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-12 04:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20155483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imsorrydidijuststutter/pseuds/imsorrydidijuststutter
Summary: Despite being surrounded by thousands of people (he swears he hasn’t been counting) constantly trying to get in a word with him, at a party intended to celebrate all the hard work he’s done over the past year, Taron has never felt more alone.So he stares at the ceiling in his hotel room, wondering whether it was the giant pit in his stomach that’s been keeping him up or the jet lag.





	Swelter of the Night

Taron Egerton was lonely. 

The last few weeks had been filled with non-stop human contact. An interview there, a photo here, and so many handshakes that he’s shocked he hasn’t contacted some sort of rare virus. 

“Siri,” he grabs his phone off the nightstand next to him, “Remind me tomorrow to pick up some Purell.” 

But after two weeks, ten flights, and four premiers (he swears he hasn’t been counting), he’s _ exhausted _. 

And, despite being surrounded by thousands of people (again, he’s not counting) constantly trying to get in a word with him, at a party intended to celebrate all the hard work he’s done over the past year, Taron has never felt more alone. 

So he stares at the ceiling in his hotel room, wondering whether it was the giant pit in his stomach that’s been keeping him up or the jet lag. 

He turns to the clock on the bedside table, the red lights haunting him in the darkness of night. 

3:32 A.M. 

Yeah, definitely **not** the jet lag. 

His phone beeps with a new message. 

_ Hey, are you up? _

Fucking Dick... literally. 

Oh, the things Taron could say about Richard. Richard Madden, who, after hearing about how well they’d get on for the past two years (ok, maybe he was counting) finally found his way into his life. 

For better or for worse. 

He quickly texts him back. 

_ No, I’m just counting the dents in the ceiling for fun. You should try it sometime. _

Taron loved getting a rise out of Richard whenever he had the chance. He could only imagine Richard’s baby blue eyes crinkling as he reads his message, the sound of his soft laugh ringing in his ears. 

**Fuck. **

His phone beeps again. 

_ 34 _

He furrows his brow. 

_ 34 what? _

_ That’s how many dents I counted. I doubled checked. I triple checked, even. I can’t fucking sleep. _

_ Have you tried counting sheep, instead? I heard they have those in Scotland, so it’ll make you feel right at home. _

_ I’ve counted sheep, cows, and helicopters in the sky. I don’t think there’s anything left to count. _

Taron sighs to himself as he stares up at the ceiling. _ 1, 2, 3, 4... _

But when his phone goes off again, his breath hitched. 

_ What room are you in? _

It’s not like he didn’t like spending time with Richard. He _ loved _ every second in the man’s presence. After an awkward first meeting that resulting in thinking he hated Taron, the two were thicker than thieves. They would chat every chance they got, going through every topic and every ridiculous story imaginable that when they eventually ran out of things to say, even the silence between them was more comfortable than any relationship Taron had ever had. 

They just… _ clicked _. 

He responds quicker than he should.

_ Excuse me? _

_ Well, if we’re both awake, might as well suffer together? _

_ Do you know what.. maybe you’re on to something? The sound of your voice could bore me to sleep… _

_ T… _

_ 1251  
_ _ My room number _

_ Well, it surely wasn’t your brain cell count. _

_ You’re lucky I’m too exhausted to let that one slide. _

_ See you in a bit. _

“_ Fuck _ me,” Taron says to himself before slamming his head into the pillow. Richard was on his way to his hotel room. At almost four in the morning. As a friend. 

So then why did it feel like he was having an affair on his nonexistent wife of 20 years? 

But before he could think about whether or not he should brush his teeth or change into a more flattering style of pajama pants, there’s a knock at the door. 

Three knocks to be exact. 

He knew those knocks. He’s memorized those knocks. Every time it had been a hard day on set last year, it was typically followed by those same three knocks on his trailer door. 

See, Taron knew his way around enough film sets to know that two knocks were standard procedure. Two knocks could be anything like a simple greeting or an alert to let him know that he needed to speed up and get his ass somewhere. 

Three knocks were different. They were more like a gesture, akin to a helping hand. They were like if the light in the darkness had a sound. 

So, when he opens the door to find Richard standing in front of him, smiling like he always does, he lets out the same breathy “Hey,” he would every time those months ago. 

“Can I come in?” Richard asks, polite as always. 

“That depends.” 

“On?” Richard raises an eyebrow. 

“Well, the only people who asked to be invited in during these kinds of hours are those of the immortal kind.” 

Richard sighs, “Are you asking me if I’m a vampire?” 

“Maybe?” Taron teases him, “I mean it would explain how you look so youthful at such an old age.” 

“Says the man who looks so old for a child.” 

Taron pouts, “Fine, you can come in.” Taron holds the door open for Richard who steps inside the hotel room. 

Richard walks in and heads straight to the bed, immediately settling in, on Taron’s side, no less. 

“You know there is a perfectly good couch right there,” Taron crosses his arms, hoping his attempt at reverse psychology is working. 

“I thought the point of me coming here was to try and fall asleep?” Richard asks, making himself comfortable under the duvet.

“Richard Madden, are you trying to get me into bed with you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, T.” 

Taron rolls his eyes playfully before trudging his way over to the bed and flopping down on the mattress. Throwing his head back against the pillow he sighs, turning to Richard, “So... what’s the plan?” 

“Well...,” the other boy turns to him, “First thing tomorrow morning I am definitely calling the front desk because your pillows are way softer than mine.” 

“Don’t you mean today morning?” 

Richard sighs, “Any opportunity to make a joke...” 

Taron smirks, “You walked into that one, bruv.” 

“Have you ever heard of the phrase “Just because you could, doesn’t mean you should”?” 

“Bold of you to assume I think before I speak.” 

Richard lets out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Anyway, the second thing on my to-do list for tomorrow- well, today, is to buy some melatonin. I left my bottle home by accident.” 

Taron furrows his brow. “You take sleeping pills?” He asks, trying to hide the fact that maybe he was a _ bit _ offended that Richard hadn’t divulged that information during their many chats. “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I didn’t think it was relevant.” 

“What else don’t I know about you, Madden?” 

There was a lot of things he didn’t know about Richard, actually, but he didn’t want to admit that

“Got to keep you on your toes, somehow,” Richard smirks, making Taron roll his eyes. 

Oh, the thrill of the chase. 

“Twenty questions,” Taron states. “Let’s play. Maybe the talking will put us both to sleep.” He conveniently leaves out the _ tiny _ detail that he’ll use any excuse to learn everything there is to know about Richard. 

Richard sighs, “Fine... you go first.” 

“Why do you take sleeping pills?” 

“Sleeping supplements,” Richard corrects him. “And I’ve been taking them for as long as I can remember. They just... _ help _.” 

“With what?” 

“You’re going to have to wait until next round because it’s my turn to ask a question.” 

Taron jokingly pouts. “I didn’t think this through.” 

“Think what through?” 

“The rules of this game, apparently. Also if we’re going hard with the technicalities,” Taron points to the boy next to him, “that was _ technically _ your first question.” 

“Fine,” Richard sighs. “Nineteen more to go.” 

“What do they help with?” 

“That’s a loaded question.” 

“That wasn’t an answer.” 

“You’re stubborn, aren’t you?” 

“It’s still not your turn.” Richard furrows his brow as Taron laughs. “Do I have to explain the rules to you, Dickie?” 

“Fine.” Richard turns to face the ceiling. “Whenever I go to bed I tend to have... too many things running through my mind that sometimes I feel like I can’t keep up. It’s.. _ scary _.” 

Richard pauses, waiting for Taron to make fun of him with some sort of witty comment. Being friends with Taron Egerton meant developing a thick skin, despite knowing that every joke was intended as a way to lighten the mood. And Richard knew that, but he only recently developed his thick skin, so every cut felt fresh. 

So he takes that as permission to continue. “And it’s exhausting. But never in a tired way. Like my mind is the one running the marathon.” 

Again, the other boy says nothing. He knows a simple sorry isn’t going to cut it, but it’s too late to think of anything more eloquent. 

“Sometimes I just need that gentle push.” 

The uncharacteristic silence continues. 

“I don’t really need them when someone else is in the same bed with me, though.”

“So this whole time I’m just you’re... whatever the platonic version of a fuck buddy is?” 

And, right on cue, he’s back. 

“A sleep buddy?”

Richard just laughs and turns his head back to the boy beside him. “It’s my turn to ask the questions.” 

“Whatever,” Taron crosses his arms. “I know I’m right.” He hopes he is. 

“So...” Richard asks, “What’s got your mind racing this fine morning?” 

The pit in his stomach he’d completely forgotten about suddenly opens, swallowing him, and any tangible thought that was once running through his mind, whole. As he feels his hands begin to shake, Taron can only manage to get out one word: 

“Lonely.” 

Richard doesn’t notice the shaking or the fear looming behind his eyes, and he’s certainly unaware that Taron’s had years of practice of hiding every nervous tick he’s become aware of. 

It’s a shame they’ve never played a game of poker. 

“Oh, don’t act like you haven’t been enjoying everyone blowing smoke up your ass these past few months,” Richard teases. “Even if it is well deserved.” 

“A bunch of people telling me I did my job correctly doesn’t really make me feel _ wanted _.” 

Taron closes his eyes and sighs, thinking about how the only person that’s made him feel worth a damn these past couple of months (six, to be exact) is barely a few inches away, sharing a bed with him _ for fucks sake _. 

This was his month, nay, his _year_, and yet he can’t even close his eyes without thinking about how the only thing he’s grateful for is having Richard by his side, and the things he wishes he had the time, or the privacy, to whisper in his ear. 

But now that he’s got him by his _ literal _ side, in the most secluded place he could imagine, he’s practically frozen. 

I guess he only talks a big game in his dreams. 

Taron opens his eyes again, avoiding Richard’s glance by turning his head towards the ceiling. “What makes you feel wanted?” He asks, suddenly remembering it’s his turn. 

“Knowing there are people out there who I can trust,” he answers almost too quickly like it’s a prepared statement for his next talk show appearance. “Family... friends...” 

He playfully elbows Taron at an attempt to cheer him up, almost as if he was gently squeezing the joke out of him, but he doesn’t budge. 

Never has Richard Madden wanted to be more insulted in his life. 

“Are you ok?” Richard asks, voice barely a whisper. 

Taron turns to him, his lips pursed. “You know that counts as a question right?” 

“That means you have to answer it, mate.” 

Even though it was dim, Taron can still make out every detail of his face, making a mental note of every spot he wishes he could ghost his thumb over. His vision flickers between Richard’s lips and eyes, and that’s where he sees it: the concern. 

It’s not the want Taron was hoping for, dreaming about even, but it was _ something _. 

“No,” he breathes out. “I’m not.” 

Richard opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but he stops himself. He bites his lip, pretending to not hear Taron’s audible gulp when he does so, and sighs. 

In a perfect world, Taron would’ve grabbed Richard’s face then and there, making up for the confession he was too proud to admit, and Richard would’ve made sure that his constantly building anxiety would’ve melted away with every touch. 

It a decent world they would’ve continued their game like nothing happened. Taron would’ve asked what Richard’s favorite color was (whatever shade of green Taron’s were at the moment), and Richard would’ve inquired about Taron’s favorite guilty pleasure activity (dancing to Fleetwood Mac around his empty apartment... well it was until his cleaning lady caught him that one time). They would’ve tuckered out at around question 14. 

But this wasn’t a perfect world. Or a decent world, even. 

_ 1, 2, 3, 4... _ Taron counts the ticking of a clock that doesn’t exist as he lays there, motionless, waiting for Richard to just _ say _ something already. 

He doesn’t, instead turning his head to face the ceiling. 

Taron doesn’t move just yet, taking advantage as he watches Richard’s chest rise and all with every breath. His eyes linger over the curves of his face in the darkness: his nose, his chin, his lips_ ... _

“Come here,” Richard says softly, catching Taron off guard. 

“What?” Taron breathes out, voice quiet enough just in case he’s imagining things. 

Richard raises his arm and Taron waits a second before scooting next to him on the bed, their bodies touching. Taron gently paces his head down on Richard’s chest, slinging one arm over as Richard lowers his, draping it over Taron’s back. 

“Goodnight, T,” he thinks he hears Richard say. He’s not sure what to believe anymore. 

So he closes his eyes and listens to Richard’s heartbeat, counting each thump as he attempts to lower his own. 

And for the first time that night, sleep welcomes him with open arms. 

The next morning he wakes up to thirteen text messages, three missed calls, and an empty bed. 

And, for the second time that day, Taron Egerton was lonely. 

**Author's Note:**

> Title and plot inspired by "Say It" by Maggie Rogers. 
> 
> I also haven't written RPF in a hot minute so, hope you enjoyed!


End file.
